


Stop and breathe

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Series: Slowly loving you [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Mother, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gen, Like, Physically abusive, Pre-Slash, Projecting, Self-Acceptance, Sexism, Trans Enjolras, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: Enjolras thinks about his past, when he was recognised as a girl.He thought of his disappointed mother, the distance he had created between the two of them... Just because he knew he was a boy.(Please read the tags)
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras & Les Amis de l'ABC, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta (background)
Series: Slowly loving you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1177319
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Stop and breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Enjolras tries improper binding with bandages in this fic because he isn't aware of proper binding. Assume that after he ran away from his mother he was free to research and bind safely.

In front of him was a beautiful girl with sad eyes. It was like looking at a photograph. Although she was living and breathing, she looked empty and numb. Something was off. The girl took in a broken inhale and a tear fell down her cheek. Through the tear on her pale white cheek, Enjolras saw the reflection of her past.

There was an older woman, lovingly holding her child’s hand. The little girl was blond and wore a pink dress and stockings. Her mother adored the Western fashion and seemed to have passed her adoration to her child who was skipping along next to her. A woman who was passing by knelt down, “Oh, my,” She gave a warm smile as she made the little girl feel uncomfortable due to the attention she was receiving, “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”  
“Yes, I don’t know what I did to deserve her.” The mother beamed as she stroked her hair.

After the trance, Enjolras returned to the present time. This was surely a happy memory. It should have been… Finding it difficult to look at her, he tilted his head away in which she reflected his actions. Enjolras bt his bottom lip, his tongue being held back from unleashing questions. Desperately he wanted to ask if her mother knew her misery. Knew of her heartbreak. Did her mother know her at all? Did she know who she was?

A tear dropped to his hand. He had not realised he was silently crying. To stop his whimpering, he pressed his hand against his mouth. As if to comfort himself and feel the security of having a mother, he began to sway back and forth on the chair he was sitting on. With uncontrollable tears dropping onto the carpet, Enjolras began to overthink how he should get rid of the evidence. How could he hide his true emotions more? He envisioned himself crawling on the floor, scrubbing any evidence of his heartbreak. The projection of himself then turned and met his eyes. It was painful to see the fake version of himself. The man had sharp, squared jaws and an Adam’s apple. The man huffed and Enjolras physically looked away back to the girl so he didn’t have to see the ideal. Instead, he saw who he was instead.

In the mirror there was a girl. In his mind there was a boy. Who was he?

If he could do anything, it was to look more neutral. To not look like a doll. In sacrifice, he would have to lose his mother’s love. Was that a price he wanted to pay? He closed his eyes.  
“I want one of those,” Young Enjolras plainly said, pointing at boys clothes.  
His mother laughed softly, “But those are for boys, my dear.”  
Enjolras nodded, sure of his wish. Then his face began to drop as he felt the intense need to cry. He had never seen such an expression on his mother’s face.  
Afterwards, his mother lectured him with her voice faltering. She would talk for several hours, ending in a sob. Young Enjolras waddled towards and hugged her. When she crouched down, he stroked her hair as she used to with him to calm him whenever he cried. “There, there.” He said, echoing the words of his mother. He kissed his mother’s forehead. “I will be a good girl.” He promised. It was a promise to make sure his mother was not distressed. Such an innocent goal was so difficult to execute.

There was guilt manifesting in him. It should’ve been so easy to be an obedient daughter. Be the most beautiful, the kindest, the most loving… But he failed in all parts. It drove his behaviour up to the point that whenever his mother would walk past a stranger, he would make sure to hide himself in case his mother struck up a conversation and inevitably mentioned his looks. 

No one could miss the fact that there was adoration of his soft, blond hair, his glowing blue eyes, and, of course, being a girl. It was already difficult not knowing his identity, but there was a much larger worry in his mind. When he was being scolded by his mother when he complained about the clothes he had, his mother mentioned her terrible past. All through her life she was surrounded by abusive men, starting with her father who had tried to drown her multiple times just for failing to be a son when she was born. It was because of this she didn’t just have hatred of men, but fear.  
The face he saw when he announced he would like to dress as a boy was an unforgettable expression. The absolute horror on her face burned in his brain, scorching his dreams for several weeks afterwards. His mother had been very loving so having seen that face for the first time was enough for him to be terrified of falling asleep and dreaming of that moment.

The way his mother dealt with grief was to erase it from her mind as certain time passed. This way, Enjolras believed his mother had accepted him. One day, in consequence, he tugged her by the arm and asked her a simple question: “Why was I not born a boy?”  
There was something truly horrifying in that moment. This time it wasn’t because of how she looked, it was because of what she did. Light dulled in her eyes as she twisted her neck to face away from her child. From that point, he did not exist to her.  
That was the last time he had seen life in her eyes.

With hatred of himself for letting his mother down, he stared at the mirror in front of him. The girl had nice, long hair, running down to her shoulder blades, wavy and soft. Her face was incredibly pale as if she was holding her breath. Mimicking her, Enjolras took in a sharp inhale and had forgotten to breathe out. Perhaps through pain he could bring colour back into her face… The strain in his lung rippled throughout his body as his body attached his pain with a collapsing wave of memory. Of all the times his mother brought out an umbrella, or a shoe horn, or a rolling pin and would swing the ordinary items into weapons. This sort of action had increased in frequency after he had claimed he wished to be a boy, feeding her fear of men as she would wail in pain every time she hit her child. Although he cried in pain, begging for her to stop, there was one thing which was consistent: he always forgave her and blamed himself for her outbursts. She whispered to him that this was because she loved him. That she cared for him so much she did not want to see him ‘turn’. He was always going to be her ‘little girl’. Her doll.

At last, he let out his breath, releasing another fall of tears. With the memories fresh in his mind, he knew what he was going to do.

Naturally he grabbed his scissors and stared at the mirror to see the young girl. He didn’t care for consequences now. He was going to get rid of her.

He clenched his fist with his hair in his hand. He could be disowned, abandoned, pass the point of no return. But with his mother refusing his existence already unless she wanted to let out her fury, what was there to lose?

He wanted to be independent. Be free.

He squeezed his eyes shut and cut his hair.

There was the moment of truth. When he opened his eyes, he would witness who he was in reality. There would be a boy. A young boy. With love and delight capturing his eyes.

Shifting nervously on his seat, he decided he was going to slowly open his eyes, but couldn’t stand the suspense. When his vision became clear again, through the mirror he saw a smiling girl. He watched light dissolve from her face. Enjolras screamed loud enough to deafen himself. His face slowly transformed to pink and to almost red. 

He wasn’t supposed to be a girl. 

He shouted and yelled even with his mother under the same roof for he knew she would not aid him. He was not supposed to be born this way. He was not supposed to be living as a woman, if one would call this living. There was a weight pressuring him down, suffocating him.

At that moment he felt the full force of desolation as the severe lack of nurture he received strangled his throat as he squeaked and choked as uncontrollable hot ears rained down his face. He needed someone so desperately to depend on yet his mother was absent. From then on, it cemented that he was forever going to have a hole in his life. A hole in his heart. And a hole in his identity.

That night he knocked himself out as he cried on the floor, damaged.

A couple of days after the painful night, Enjolras searched the medical cabinet in the house while his mother mindlessly watched the TV in another room. To her, the machine was more interesting than he was. But as a precaution, he was sure to be silent, not to bother her.

Inside the cabinet, he found what he wanted: bandages. A long, long string of bandage was exactly what he desired. With it, he ran to his room and looked through his mirror once more. He knew why his mother bought it in the first place- to let him know how beautiful he was and that girls should always comb their hair and put on their make-up. Well, unfortunately for her, his mirror worked as the opposite. He wouldn’t let a reflection control him; he had enough. Especially when his mother seemed to care about him less and less as the months went by.

Breathing uneasily due to fear and excitement, he hastily stripped himself so he could see his chest. He choked as he took off his bra. Immediately, he grabbed for the bandage and he slowly wrapped it around his chest. As he saw his chest flatten, he wanted more, pulled the bandage tighter and tighter. He could barely breathe but he could see how he was transforming. This was the beginning. He pulled tighter. He could finally be himself. He pulled it tighter. He could finally be… His vision darkened as he dizzily hit the floor.

Loosening the bandages a little, he allowed himself a room to breathe. However he had to sacrifice his perfect look. Frustrated at his situation he moaned in pain as he lay on the floor, refusing to see how his chest looked like.

He sniffed before he rose up again. He put a new shirt on- a baggy, oversized shirt he bought for himself. When he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself, he couldn’t help but grin at how he looked. He had a flat chest.

That was his first day in which he truly showed himself. Outside home, people started calling him a ‘he’ without him asking them to initially, and boys no longer flirted with him, and girls started taking interest. This solidified that he was a boy. To everyone but his mother. Not that it mattered- their link had been severed and abandoned despite living under the same roof. She had stopped cooking for him or talking to him. Inside, she had become cold and numb. As years went by Enjolras did not forgive her but grew up to resent her for what she did and how she behaved. There was never a reaction from her whenever he did anything- he no longer existed. So she no longer existed in his mind.

Moving out was one of the best things that could’ve happened to him. From then he could prove to the world he was truly independent and that he was not exaggerating his living circumstances. To prove his point further, he moved near to the capital, where the prices rose, but so did job qualities, and most importantly, academic brains thrived. There, he was able to take full control of his life.

Although he had a mediocre life with mediocre jobs, he was still passionate about changing the world. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were his first two best friends. They met in university, all studying politics and literature. The three were so thrilled by thrilled by the two subjects, they became only understandable to each other as they babbled on in what sounded like nonsense to other students.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta later joined the group. ‘Chetta was not fascinated by neither politics nor literature but was a goldmine of obscure facts and knowledge as she brought happiness, calmness, and positivity to the group. She was always there if the situation began to heat up, preventing any sort of fall out. While Joly was the one who reminded everyone else about pressing issues and often caring too much of them up to the level of being paranoid. He was constantly bugged by obsessive thoughts in which Bossuet helped by counting backwards with him. Musichetta would often share her earphones with Joly and listened to soothing music together. The three of them were dating and never failed to remind Enjolras love did exist- he had just not experienced yet. At that time it seemed very impossible.

Enjolras also met Grantaire. He was not really fond of the cynic since he put argument over anything else and wore a cloak of negativity and rode the high horse of darkness. And he would never get off the damn horse. Often he would joke around, not taking the conversation topics about real crises seriously and would mock Enjolras quite frequently. It all seemed to have been due to his love of a spark between the two as whenever Enjolras would strike an argument, a flare sparked in the man’s eyes.

His friends would always tried to diffuse the tension as much as possible but on rare occasions they would just observe, knowing nothing dangerous would occur. Sometimes they wore a smile in which Enjolras could not figure out why. It must have been whatever Grantaire privately told them since Enjolras was more of an outsider to the group’s dynamic.

There were other newcomers who arrived after Enjolras, most notably a rich man named Marius Pontmercy. Courfeyrac introduced him briefly before they met describing their discovery as: “He’s a smart guy and I found him wandering around like a bumble bee, muttering on about politics under his breath as he passed ‘Ferre and I. Naturally, I wanted to hear more! So I invited him here so he can mutter out loud.” Due to the beam on his face, Enjolras found it impossible to be disappointed in his friend.

The man was named Marius, and he defined the word ‘awkward’. When Marius looked at him for the first time, his eyebrows lifted, with his mouth shaping 'oh'. Blinking several times, he was frozen in the moment. This made blood rush into his head. There were a million paths that clashed together in his head on which direction this could go in.  
But Marius disobeyed every overthought route Enjolras came up with. "Oh, oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you- I do realise that was very rude of me, please forgive me," Words practically collapsed out of his lips, "It's just, ah, you, um, Enjolras, look..." Marius paused to steady his breath, "Very beautiful."

Enjolras smiled and thanked him. This time, being called ‘beautiful’ was refreshing and empowering. There was no nagging voice in his head, no pressure which weighed him down, no sensations of being strangled: ‘beauty’ no longer correlated with a young blond girl in a pink dress. Now, it meant him.

By that time, Enjolras gained everyone’s trust that he became the leader of Les Amis. With all heads turned to look up at him for guidance or support, Enjolras tried to give much love and care to all of them, unable to forgive himself if anything happened to his dear friends.

Then there was Grantaire. He was still very problematic. After months of being in the group, they still bickered, often compared to a married couple. The very idea of spending alone time with Grantaire seemed like an impossible act.

But it happened. Of course it was under the cynic’s design as he stayed over after a meeting to confront Enjolras before he rushed away. “Apollo,” His voice was hoarse, as always.  
Enjolras desired to ignore him and looked down at his work, not noticing Grantaire having sat across from him.  
“Don’t call me that,” He muttered as he did calculations in his head.  
“Enj--”  
“Don’t call me that either.”  
“Before our first rally, I wanted to say something to you.”  
“That you thought it was going to fail?” He finally looked up at the man, “I’m not quite sure if you noticed, but you said your thoughts aloud then.” 

He could clearly remember Grantaire holding him by the hand and complaining before slowly shaking his head, tears capturing his eyes. There was so much misery he could see it made him feel uncomfortable. In fact his instinct was to embrace the man and speak to him softly words of praise and worth. Then he remembered they were fighting for something important so he forcibly yanked his hand away before joining the rest of Les Amis.

“I meant to tell you something,” Grantaire burst.  
“Go away, R.” He was really busy. Or at least he pretended to be. Whenever Grantaire was in the room, his thoughts would always be divided and thus irrational- he could never pay attention to his work: he hated that.

"Why can't we have normal conversations? Without trying to attack each other?"  
"Because you always argue."  
"Yes, when we are discussing politics. Besides, I prefer the word 'debate'. Since at the end of the day we're still us, right? Friends?"  
Enjolras did not reply.

There were the uncomfortable tears once again stirring in his eyes which made Enjolras shift in his seat. He almost wanted to say ‘Stop that.’ but he held back his tongue.  
“What are we? Ap-- Enjolras?”  
“Is this because I didn’t say anything just then? Look, I’m sorry. We’re friends.” He tried to restrict much of the emotion he truly felt just then.  
The man dipped his head. “No, not that. I just-... I feel as if you do not know how deeply I care about you… No…” He groaned and bit his lip, having a clear conflict in his head before continuing to talk in which Enjolras patiently waited for, “How much I love you.”  
Enjolras almost laughed in response. “What kind of a cruel prank are you trying to pull?”  
“No prank.” He said plainly. “Just you and me.”  
He accidentally echoed his words. “Just you and me.”

The man cracked a smile. "I love, venerate, and adore you, Enjolras. Even when you think you are hated. Just remember. There are always people staring at you in awe. Exhibit A." Grantaire gestured to himself half-heartedly, his cheeks red with embarrassment, "And if you think you are truly alone, and that there's nobody by your side, just remember, I will always be at least thinking about you. Looking up at you. Admiring your beautiful personality, and wonderful charisma, and the never-ending passion and range of emotions you have. You give colour to my vision. You should remember that. Always,"  
Enjolras did not know what to say, “Why are you telling me this?”

Misunderstanding what the man meant, Grantaire nodded to himself as 'I thought so', and with a sad expression, walked away, out of the room. 

Only silence existed in that moment, breathing and dangerous like a live dragon. From a young age, Enjolras felt nothing but sympathy towards his mother. He cursed his words, but no matter how much he despised it, it was true. But with Grantaire, his heart would transform into fire, warming him up, granting him the feeling of hope.

Although Enjolras was gifted with friends that deeply cared for him, it was Grantaire who was able to teleport Enjolras to the obliviousness of his younger self. Back to the childhood he had missed out on: when everything was smooth and fine, when happiness was a given.

Grantaire's unorganised ramble that made him realise this. Enjolras did not need to fill the hole of losing his mother, he needed to accept it. And his friends and Grantaire would allow him to do just that.

It was because of this realisation that he continued his work with a grin on his face, excitedly waiting for the next day. The next day when he can see his friends again, when he can see Grantaire again, when he can feel the great relief that he can express himself as who he is. He could now stop and breathe, he could slow down, he could be himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with my friend, but she deleted her account- so if any of y'all from future are reading this and are confused by the comments, I'm leaving the explanation here.


End file.
